January 2016

01/28/2016

Every morning for as long as I remember, Oliver greets me silently to start the day. If he's just woken up he will simply move toward me and put his weight against me, sometimes hugging, sometimes just standing as he slowly separates from his dreams and solitary slumber in the comfort of my warmth. If I'm up later than him, which I almost always am, I will come into the kitchen behind where he's sitting on a stool and he will lean back and reach out to pull me to him. Next comes what I can only describe as a nuzzle, where he, for only a moment, rubs his head against my shoulder then resumes his breakfast or his show. He doesn't think about any of this. It's one of my favourite connection rituals.

01/27/2016

Last night Georgia decided she was in charge of setting the table. I was the minion. I went upstairs for a sec to go pee or some such other bother and it was incredibly annoying to the conductor of affairs. She began the countdown preceding the point where I would get in big trouble if I didn't come down: "Ten, nine, eight, I'm serious now, seven ..." I apologized profusely, then went about my assigned tasks: forks, knives, spoons, drinks (and especially adults' wine). I asked officious George what I should call her: Hostess, Lady, Manager, Director, and she stopped me dead in my tracks: "Master." No drama, and without the slightest pause.